She was about Lois' age, and had been to school with her.
Mrs.Field, erect and gaunt, with a look of goodness so settled and pre-eminent in her face that it had almost the effect of a smile, sat and listened to the minister.

He was a young man with boyish shoulders, and a round face, which he screwed nervously as he talked.
He was vehement, and strung to wiriness with new enthusiasm; he seemed to toss the doctrines like footballs back and forth before the eyes of the people.
Mrs.Field listened intently, but all the time it was as if she were shut up in a corner with her own God and her own religion.

There are as many side chapels as there are individual sorrows in every church.
After the minister finished his discourse, the old men muttered prayers, with long pauses between.

Now and then a young woman played a gospel tune on a melodeon, and a woman in the same seat with Mrs.
Field led the singing.

She was past middle age, but her voice was still sweet, although once in a while it quavered.